A Drink with the Devil
by Praetor Corvinus
Summary: The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.


WARNING: This touches on religious beliefs. I do not wish to offend anyone. It's just fiction.

* * *

The host finished writing a few numbers down in his book. They had done good business today. The restaurant was empty but not yet closed. There was still another half hour until it was time to shut down. He prayed to God that no one else would come in.

Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered. The sound of the front door opening up made the host sigh. So close.

He looked up at the unwanted costumer. It was a young man, probably early thirties. The man's appearance was casual, nothing out of the ordinary. The face, however, appeared tired and warn out.

"Welcome to Il Mulino," the host greeted. "How can I help?"

The young man gave a soft, civil smile. "Hi. Um, are you guys still open?" The man's eyes wandered around the empty dining room.

"For you, sir, of course."

"Nice. Uh, can I get some Risotto Milanese to go?"

"Of course, sir. Anything else?"

The man blinked several times, thinking over his options. "Have you got any dessert left?"

The host smiled. It might be closing time, but he could still milk a few dollars out of this guy. "Yes we do. In fact, I would recommend the Zabaglione Caldo con Fruitti di Bosco. It's quite refreshing."

"Yeah, I'll have one of those Zaba… uh… Zabadaba Fruity Costco things."

The host smiled at the young man's embarrassed face. "Right away, sir. Don't worry about the pronunciation. I couldn't say anything right the first couple months I was here. It'll take about twenty minutes for your order. Is that alright?"

The man smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that'll be fine."

"Very good, sir. Excuse me." The host walked away to place the order.

Greg looked around the dining room. He hadn't been in this place for years. The last time had been with that defense attorney right before he got beat up. He couldn't even remember her name anymore. He couldn't remember a lot of things from back then.

Feeling awkward standing around, Greg eyed the empty bar. With slow steps, he approached a vacant stool and sat down. His head sagged a little, his face directed toward the polished wood of the counter top. His hands lay absently on the cool surface.

"Care for a drink, sir?" a voice asked.

Greg laughed. He had been wishing for one. "What have you got?" he asked without looking up.

"I can bring you a wine list."

"Got anything stronger?"

"We do keep a few selections behind the bar here. Tequila?"

Greg frowned. He never really cared for tequila. "Have you got anything more… homegrown? Whiskey maybe?"

He looked up at the bartender. The man was about middle-age. His features were average, nothing noteworthy. Short dirty blonde hair with a balding spot and matching thin eyebrows adorned his face. Dull, brownish green eyes stared out of a pair of dollar store eyeglasses. They were held up by a squat nose. Overall, pretty forgettable.

"I think you'd like something south of the border," the man replied holding the tequila bottle.

"Sure. Give me whatever's cheap."

The bartender quietly fixed a glass and then placed it on a black coaster in front of Greg.

"Thanks," Greg replied. He took a quick sip. The tequila had a faint flavor to it. Something not entirely unpleasant. It tasted like lime. A feeling of warmth sprang up in his chest as the alcohol traveled through. All in all, it was pretty good.

"That's not too bad," Greg stated.

The bartender smiled. "I told you. I have knack for knowing what people want."

"Bet it does well for business."

"Eh, depends on the customer. Some can be really stubborn."

"You saying I'm an easy mark?"

The bartender chuckled. "Not at all. The tequila was open and I didn't want to open anything else."

This made Greg laugh. "A lazy bartender. You know, sloth is one of the seven deadly sins."

The chuckle turned into a laugh. "Yeah, I guess it is. Oh well. Pride is too and that seems to be going well for me so far."

"Pride cometh before the fall," Greg stated.

Taking a rag, the bartender started wiping the counter. "Once you've fallen though, what else have you got?"

"Good point," Greg agreed as he took another sip. "You got a name, or should I just refer to you as 'bartender'?"

"Lucius," he responded.

"Lucius?" Greg questioned. "That's an uncommon name."

"I like it. I have another name, but I hate that one. My father gave it to me."

Greg nodded his head in understanding. "God bless middle names, right?"

"Indeed." Lucius had a slight frown on his face. "What about your name, stranger?"

"Greg."

"Alright, Greg, what brings you to my little abode here ten thirty at night?"

"Work."

"Tough day?"

"Haven't even gone in yet. I work nights," Greg explained.

Lucius eyed him with a look of concern. "Should you be drinking before you go in?"

Greg shrugged. "It's my night off. I'm just used to the hours, you know."

"Then how does work factor in here? Hate your job?"

That was question Greg had been asking himself for awhile. Seeing this place only hammered it home. He was losing himself. He could recall the days of dancing around the lab, carefree and ignorant of the world. Sure he dealt with blood from murder cases and semen from rape victims, but it was all science. He had done similar things in college.

But the samples never had a face.

He never had to meet people on the worst days of their lives. Never had to deal with the trauma of someone else's pain.

He never lost anyone.

"Greg?" Lucius asked. "You alright?"

The young man blinked. "Yeah. Have you ever questioned your career choices?"

Lucius frowned as he thought about that. "Sure I have. You think I wanted to wind up here?" he pointed around him. Greg assumed he meant the bar. "I had dreams once. Still do, I guess."

"I had dreams too," Greg said to his glass. "I wanted to be a superhero. I wanted to be a member of the Justice League." He took a sip. "Save lives, help people, all that jazz. Work alongside other heroes and try to make the world a better place."

"Not all it's cracked up to be?"

Greg sighed. "I don't know. I just never planned on the League falling apart."

"_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes__?_" Lucius stated nonchalantly.

"Who watches the watchmen? Something like that. I guess it would have been different if we broke apart… well, differently."

"How do you mean?"

"Perhaps if someone moved away for family reasons or got offered a better job. Anything other than what happened."

"What did happen?"

Greg scoffed. "Heh, that's a story worth telling. Which hero would you like to hear about? The one who you thought was a good friend, who suddenly up and leaves on you. Twice. How about the mentor who steals your fantasy and flees with it. Or the one who was murdered."

Lucius stopped cleaning the counter. "What the hell to you do, anyway?"

A bitter chuckle escaped Greg's lips. "I'm a crime scene investigator. Been doing it for almost five years now. You'd think after five years, people would give you a little respect."

"Hey, sometimes the newbie is always a newbie."

This comment made anger rush through Greg's body. "I've been at the lab for twelve years! I was the best damn technician in that place. Yet I'm still the newbie? Bullshit."

Lucius raised a hand in peace. "Whoa, there. Didn't mean anything by it. So, you're here because they don't respect you?"

Taking another sip, Greg contemplated the question. "Not respect. They do respect me. They just don't appreciate me."

"How can you tell?"

"I've been doing menial labor. I understand that I used to be a tech. I get that. Covering a shift every now and again is fine. But being stuck in there, barely assisting in cases? That's why I got out into the field to begin with. As much fun as that is."

"You don't like it?"

"I… I don't know," Greg responded truthfully. "What you think something is isn't always how it turns out."

"Meaning?"

"I investigate crimes. Murders, rapes, burglaries. My day job is seeing people doing their worst."

"Makes you doubt humanity?'

Greg looked up at Lucius. "Have you ever asked a man to let go of the body of his son so it could be processed. A young boy, playing outside his house. A man, whose wife had died from violence sometime before, now having lost what remained of his family. It's not the killers that make you doubt. It's the victims."

"They say it's all part of a greater plan," Lucius offered.

"Whose plan?" Greg asked bitterly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You don't believe in a higher authority?"

"I wouldn't say that. I guess I just don't believe in all the dogma that churches sell."

"Ah, so you're Agnostic."

Greg shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. When it comes down to it, I believe in God. Hell, I believe in a lot of supernatural stuff. Just not the all seeing, all knowing, ever _loving _God."

"So you're a Deist?"

"A what?"

"Deist. You fit well here. This country was founded by Deists," Lucius explained. "You know, Franklin, Washington, Jefferson. Deists. They believed in a 'Great Architect' who created the universe and all within. They just didn't believe that he had a hand in everyday life."

"He did what he had to do, then stepped back to watch? Interesting." Greg took another sip from his glass.

"You don't buy it?"

"Why would anyone make a species as vile as us? For what purpose?"

Lucius shrugged. "Maybe there is no purpose. Maybe we're all random. Chaos"

Greg smiled. "Chaos. I like that. Nobody would care who's good or evil."

"If it is chaos, then what's Good and Evil? If there is no God, then what's Good? Without Good, how can you have Evil? And on that note, without Evil, then what is Good?"

Greg gave Lucius a confused look. "Are you saying Evil is good?"

"They say Greed is good. Hell, we're in a city built on that. Lust too. People take pilgrimages here to get what they don't deserve. They just live off of the merit of others. That's Sloth. Excess is king here, so there's Gluttony. These rich business men and casino moguls are the embodiment of Pride. And look at these crimes you try to solve. Wrath and Envy. There's a reason this town is called Sin City. And you live here. What does that say about you?"

Greg swallowed. The liquor was leaving bitter taste in his mouth. At least, he hoped it was the liquor. "I'm not like that," he stammered.

Lucius grinned at him. "You saying you never indulged in any of the Sins? Lust? Maybe… Wrath?"

Images flashed through Greg's head. Pictures of Sara. Angry thoughts about Grissom. Demetrius James. The man he killed. The man he _murdered. _He thought about Riley. He thought about pulling hair and sex toys.

"A sin is just more dogma, Greg," Lucius continued. "Sins corrupt and erode the soul. But if there is no God, why would you need a soul? Do you have a soul, Greg?"

"Of… of course I do." Cold enveloped Greg.

"You don't sound convinced, Greg. Maybe you don't. If not, then the very idea is worthless."

Greg started breathing hard. He didn't know why, but he knew he had to leave. "I think I'm done now. How much for the glass?"

"I'm sorry, but that was the only bottle of tequila. It was an old bottle too. Not cheap."

"How…how much?"

"Three hundred and thirty three dollars a glass. And you had two."

Greg's eyes widened. "I don't have that kind of cash!"

Lucius waved his comment off. I'm sure we can work out some kind of… deal."

Fear was gripping Greg's heart. It flowed through his veins. It encircled his… soul. He looked at Lucius. He didn't know if it was a trick of the light or what, but he could have sworn his brownish green eyes were now black.

The glass he was holding fell from his limp fingers. It shattered on the hardwood floor.

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

Greg looked behind him. The host was standing there with a bag in his hands. Greg's head flipped around to the bar. It was empty.

"Sir?" The host repeated. "I have your order."

"I… uh… I dropped a glass." Greg said quietly, his eyes darting around the room.

"That's alright. It was only water."

"Water?" Greg was confused.

"You zoned out on that stool. I asked if you wanted anything to drink. You said whatever was cheapest. I gave you water. Would you like something else?"

Greg felt like he was going crazy. "Who… uh… who was the bartender?"

The host furrowed his brow. "Bartender? Jesύs went home about an hour ago."

"An hour ago?" Greg did a quick sweep of the area again. He wanted to leave. Now. "Never mind. How much for the food?"

"Fifty eight seventeen."

Greg threw him a hundred. "Keep the change," he said as he grabbed his food and got the hell out of there.

The host, staggered at the tip, looked at the fleeing figure. He hated the weirdoes who came in at night. Sometimes they did tip well, though.

* * *

A/N: This story in no way reflects my personal beliefs. It is a work of fiction based around my idea of having a conversation with Satan and how he might try to get someone. I have no wish to offend anyone.


End file.
